


Circle Game

by lahijadelmar



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Unplanned Pregnancy, rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahijadelmar/pseuds/lahijadelmar
Summary: An unlikely friendship forms based on science and Atari between Eugene and Negan's red-headed wife. When things suddenly get dire for Frankie, Eugene has to find his nerve and thwart the bat-wielding Negan. Takes place in a nebulous season 7, some elements borrowed from the comics but not enough to claim citation. Romance, tragedy and awkwardness ensues.





	Circle Game

**Author's Note:**

> You ever see two characters interact for like a handful of scenes and decide to devise a whole story just for the two of them? No, just me? Well, here it is. This is the result of a combination of loving Eugene unconditionally and wanting him to be happy (as much as anyone can in this setting) and reading a ton of depth into Frankie's character (many thanks to Elyse Dufour for giving her said depth). I hope they chose to explore her character in the next season- and if they can give her a friendship or something at least with Eugene, all the better! I love their chemistry, can't quite put my finger on it. Do note: I HAVE NOT SEEN TWD TO COMPLETION. I've skipped around, read the wiki, read some of the comics, etc. I may get things wrong with the canon. So long as it's not a huge oversight I'm willing to just let it be what it is.

“I want to learn. I was hoping you’d teach me.” 

 

Frankie’s alone this time, a singular redhead in impractical heels and tight black dress (the wife  _ uniform _ as it seems to be). It’s surprising even as he had expected it, having been asked personally by Negan the night before if he would be amenable to tutoring her;

  
  


_ ‘Yeah, I dunno either. She says wants to be more than just a pretty face and I’m like- baby, who’s asking you to be more than that? Whatever. With everything that’s come up, I’m alright with getting her mind off of things. Unless, of course...she happens to have a thing for awkward brainiacs…’ _

 

_ Negan said this warningly. As his smile fell, Eugene was quick to assure him, _

 

_ ‘I find that women like Frankie have a difficult time taking notice of my presence at all, let alone taking an interest. In any case, I’m sure her loyalty to you is as fast as any of us.’  _

 

_ The smile was back and Negan was laughing, clapping Eugene on the back.  _

 

_ ‘I’m just messing with you, Doc. You’re alright.’  _

 

“That doesn’t seem prudent,” Eugene says, still standing somewhat protectively in the threshold of his doorway. “Given how our last interaction ended. Fact of the matter is, I don’t trust you.” 

 

Frankie looks around nervously, even as there’s no one within distance enough to hear this exchange. 

 

“Can you just-...will you  _ please _ let me in, Dr. Eugene? I’d like to explain myself, but I can’t do it  _ here _ …” 

 

Had Frankie not been nicer to him than what was necessary, had  _ she _ been the one to call him a coward rather than Tanya, he most likely would send her on her way. As it is, however…

 

With some reluctance, Eugene backs away enough to permit her entry. She mutters a soft and sincere ‘thank you’ and there’s an awkward silence that could be cut with a knife after he closes the door. She’s finding her words; he’s waiting for them. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says finally. “We shouldn’t have tried to involve you...or trick you. We...saw a  _ way _ \- a method that could help everyone. We were confident it would work, no one would suffer. Still. I’m sorry. Normally, I see us girls as a family that has to look out for each other. Normally, I don’t care who we need to throw under the bus to protect ourselves, but...I meant what I said. You  _ are _ a good man and there aren’t many of those left. We were wrong to involve you.” 

Eugene shrugs and looks down at the floor in concession. 

 

“I think I can understand the need to save one’s skin,” he says with some amount of personal shame. “Even at the expense of others. You, at least, can claim to be working in the interest of a group...rather than just yourself. Not everyone can say that.” 

 

Another silence follows before he assumes, “I gather this was just an opportunity to apologize then.”  

 

“No- well, not entirely. I  _ do _ want to learn- biology, chemistry, whatever you can teach me that’s useful,” Then in a hushed voice, drawing a bit closer to him she adds, “There’s a good chance this war won’t pan out in the Saviors’ favor. Even if it’s not this one,  _ something _ will end Negan’s reign sooner or later. I’ve been sitting pretty for a good long while, but if I have to fend for myself I want to be useful. I want to  _ know _ things.”  

 

“You knew enough to keep you alive this long,” he points out. “Despite whatever impression I might have given off, I assure you I’ve only been getting by by the skin of my teeth.” 

 

“That’s  _ not _ how it looks from where I’m standing.” Frankie folds her arms over her chest. “So your aim is shit and you can’t fight off a walker hoard with your bare fists. Neither can I. It’s not the  _ only _ way to get by. You and I have  _ other _ assets. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’d sooner know how to  _ make _ bombs and bullets than throw or fire them. So…? Will you consider teaching me…?” 

 

Eugene pauses as if considering his options, even though the choice has already been made. Refusing to teach Frankie is a refusal to Negan’s order (he’s lucky Negan presents his orders to him as more like  _ requests _ ) and he’s certain she knows this as well as he does. He supposes he appreciates that she’s willing to pretend he has a choice too. 

 

“I’ll do what I can,” he replies, straight faced. “It’d be a pleasure.” 

* * *

 

It’s been awhile since he’s written lesson plans, but he does what he can to make them useful and relevant to the world’s current situation. He recalls the knowledge that saved him and sets to work conveying to her the things that pulled his fat from the fire too many times to count, along with things he anticipates will come in handy. It’s unlike any curriculum he’s tailored before, but not a challenge he thinks is out of his element by any means. ‘

 

Their lessons are weekly to start with...until she begins showing up every other day. He can’t fathom why that is and worries that he’ll run out of material too soon...and run out he does one day before he has time to accumulate anything more. 

 

“Well...I came all the way here,” she says, sitting on the side of his armchair as she had the first time. “Could we just... _ talk _ or something?” 

He struggles to come up with a topic that would be relevant to both of them (that  _ isn’t _ related to their studies) but thankfully she saves him by offering up his controller. 

 

“Better yet, how about a game? I’m sure you have  _ something _ that’s two-player.” 

 

“I do. I don’t imagine you’ve heard of  _ Space War _ , but I think you’ll enjoy it.”  

 

And that becomes a thing, sometimes doing studies, most of the time making visits to play games. Frankie admits she didn’t do much of this  _ before _ and Eugene says he finds that hard to believe given how adept she is at beating him. She laughs and he says nothing even if he doesn’t really understand why she finds him funny; he knows better than to question a good thing. 

 

One night she asks him if he ever made the requested suicide pills and what became of them if he had. 

 

“I want to trust you,” he admits. “But that question seems too much of a risk to answer.” 

 

“It’s more beneficial for me to keep you here unscathed than it would be to rat you out and see you punished. I  _ want _ you to trust me, Eugene. But I’d understand why you couldn’t.” 

 

She doesn’t seem too disappointed by this, but he still wars with himself on whether or not he should confide in her. It feels good to have a friend again, admittedly. He wants to believe that’s what she is. 

 

“I...passed them on to someone who needed them. That’s all I’m at liberty to say.” 

 

A compromised truth, but one she seems content with. They don’t talk about it again and Negan never seems any the wiser than before.

* * *

 

They do talk a lot, however, maybe more than Eugene had with anyone else. _ Maybe not _ , but it sure feels like it sometimes. She listens with genuine interest when he explains the scientific reasoning behind what he’s teaching, long after the point when most people’s eyes would have glazed over. She’ll sometimes even ask further, prompting him to explain more and more. He sometimes wonders how much she comprehends but he chooses not to insult her intelligence by slowing down and phrasing things simpler. The fact that she takes an avid interest is more than he’d ask of anyone.

 

One day though, he notices that she seems detached. It only stands out to him because it isn’t the norm.

 

“We can bring this to a stopping point,” he offers. “Covalent bonds might be a bit dense of a subject for this late in the evening.”

 

She starts crying and he quietly panics for a moment. 

 

“I’m pregnant,” she says with a whimper and he doesn’t know how to react. 

 

“...I’ll assume that wasn’t the intention.”

 

She turns to him, her eyes burning with angry tears. “You should have let us kill him when you had the chance. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you save us, Eugene?” 

 

He didn’t expect this to be brought up again, having thought they had moved past this. He didn’t mind defending his actions before, before they had gotten to know each other better, before she had earned his trust enough for him to believe it when she said  _ she _ believed him to be a good man. 

 

All of that began to fall apart. 

 

“He killed your friends. Now he’s done _ this _ . I have no idea what he’ll do to me...or  _ it _ , when he finds out. This is  _ your _ fault.” 

 

“Frankie-” he starts when she gets up to leave, even as he has  _ no _ idea what he’ll do or say. 

 

Any attempt at something dies on his tongue as she leaves the room in tears. He finds his own eyes begin to burn too. 

* * *

 

He meets with her again, under the guise of needing to do another ‘lesson’. Negan doesn’t question it, just as he seems incapable of questioning anything Eugene says or does. He’ll come to regret that-  _ or not _ .

 

Frankie’s not keen to talk, either out of residual anger or regret for the things she said, but it doesn’t really matter. 

 

“I’m gonna get you out of here,” he says to her in hushed whispers over the science textbook. “I’ve gotta plan.” 

 

Her mouth almost falls open in shock. “...no. No, please don’t. It isn’t safe...I’m sorry for what I said the other day, I-”

 

“Neither is staying here in your condition. Fact of the matter is, I’m not sure  _ anywhere _ is safe given the current circumstances, but so long as Negan is alive and kicking we can rest assured neither you, nor the child, have any business being here.”

 

She doesn’t say anything to this, but the weak smile of gratitude and the tears gathering in her eyes express what words cannot.

 

“Do you have somewhere to go?” he asks. “I can get you the necessary weapons to defend yourself if you can figure out a locale.” 

 

“Trust me. I wouldn’t be here if I knew of a better place.”    

 

“I know of a place that’ll let you in, so long as you don’t mention where you came from. I provide a distraction, you grab a motorcycle. Easy-peasy.”

 

“But it’s not though, is it?” she says, taking his hand in her own. “He’ll know. There will be consequences.” 

 

“There definitely will, but not for you, not for me- for the one who  _ needs _ to face them. I gave you my trust. Will you give me yours?” 

* * *

 

The evening arrives, just as they both know it will. She leaves the masterminding to him and nothing else is said between them in the days leading up. War between the communities is quickly approaching and Negan seems too preoccupied to notice if they’re scheming. Eugene imagines he might have if things hadn’t been so hectic...or maybe he just  _ hopes _ the man everyone fears isn’t so obtuse.

 

The diversion he causes is a simple one, a claim that he saw some unidentified figures -intruders, no doubt- approaching the premises from the opposite direction she’d be leaving. Because of the onset of war and the fear of what the other factions might do, this takes the entire focus and leaves her an open enough opportunity to take off. He’s already told her they can’t risk being seen corresponding, but she seeks him out anyway and gives him a hug. 

 

“You’re a  _ good man _ , Eugene,” she says again, before taking off into the night. 

 

The more she says it the easier it is to accept. He hopes to god he’ll see her again.

 

* * *

 

“I wish I knew what it was about these broads just... _ taking off _ on me.”

 

Negan’s talking to him like a friend shooting the breeze, commiserating on life’s miseries, but Eugene knows better than to not suspect an ulterior motive. He also knows better than to show fear. Even if he’s pretty sure Negan wouldn’t do anything to him at this stage (lest he put himself at a huge disadvantage) he doesn’t want to take his chances by showing weakness. Negan doesn’t appreciate it. 

 

“I thought I made the deal pretty clear. If they’re not happy, they can step down- no harm, no foul. But this  _ leaving in the night _ stuff...that just really rubs me the wrong way.”

 

Eugene sees fit to change the subject to something more relevant. 

 

“As per the weapons, I thought you might want to cast your eye over this blue print of a rifle I’ve been devising-”

 

“I mean, you and Frankie were close, right?” Negan saunters over to him, Lucille slung over his shoulder. “I don’t suppose she gave _ you _ any hints as to why she’d skedaddle like a rat abandoning ship?” 

 

“While I’d characterize our relationship as amicable, ours was more  _ teacher and pupil _ than confidants. If she did indeed confide her intent to anyone, which would have been a tactical error on her part, it would not have been me.” 

 

Negan’s smile fades and he tightens his grip on Lucille’s handle. Eugene knows he isn’t convinced, but his fear has greatly diminished with the assurance that if Negan truly meant to kill him, he would’ve done so already. The understanding that he’s lying seems accepted by them both, even so. 

 

“ _ Really? _ Seems awful strange she wouldn’t say  _ anything _ , given all the time she spent at your place- more time than I’d say was warranted for science lessons.” 

 

Eugene holds eye contact. 

 

“She became an enthusiast of the Atari 2600. If I’m not mistaken, I’m the only one on the premises in possession of that particular console. Had she wanted to play a round of  _ Space Invaders _ or  _ Yar’s Revenge _ she’d have to appeal to me. It often served as a way to detox after a lesson.” 

 

Negan laughs, saunters back away to where he had been before. Eugene knows it’s a concession. 

 

“Eh, I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway. I’ll miss my resident masseuse, but I’ve gotta waiting list at this point for who to bump up. But you know, I just...I don’t like the abandonment. Gives me trust issues. I’m thinking I might need to do something to send the message about how this  _ works _ . People tend to forget.” 

 

Negan mimes swinging the bat at an invisible target, harsh and heavy like the first strike he had given Abraham. Eugene grits his jaw. 

 

“I think if I run across one of them again, Sherry or Frankie- or hell, hopefully both...I think I’ll have to kill them. Maybe mount their heads on some spikes out front or something. I just don’t want anyone to  _ forget _ again. That is, provided they haven’t already been chewed apart by Walkers. More likely they have. They wouldn’t have been sitting around in heels with a sugar daddy if they knew how to fend for themselves.”

 

Negan smiles directly at him and shrugs. 

 

“Sorry, that’s your hard teaching work done down the drain. But blame the little chiseler, not me. She did us both wrong, bud.”

 

Eugene vows to still wait until the right moment to execute his plan...but damn it all, if it isn’t difficult not to do  _ something _ right now.   

* * *

 

The days go by, war rages on, Eugene waits and plans and  _ builds _ . He wonders every day if Frankie ever made it to Hilltop. When reports come forward that the saviors have launched successful firefights against Hilltop he worries all over again that maybe she was a casualty and maybe he was wrong for sending her away. What would have been the worse fate? Negan’s not really the devil anyone knows, for how unpredictable his punishments can be.

 

All he can do is  _ hope _ , even as he knows probability isn’t anyone’s favor. 

 

Finally, the day comes that Negan takes the rifle Eugene’s been assembling. He’s more than happy with it, gives him a pat on the back and says, “Come on, Doctor Smartypants. Let’s go fuck up your friends.” 

 

And so, for the first time, Eugene’s asked to accompany them into battle. He knows this either means that Negan no longer worries about his usefulness, or maybe he plans to kill him there. It doesn’t really matter either way. 

 

They arrive and Eugene doesn’t pay much attention to the taunts, doesn’t pay much mind to Negan’s surprise that Rick is still alive. He watches the rifle and he waits. 

 

Minutes pass, there’s more tense conversation. Eugene pleads for Rick to do something, for someone to do  _ something _ to make Negan lift that rifle. It happens when Rick believes he’s convinced Negan of something sane and turns his back. The rifle is aimed...and fired. 

 

And Negan falls, his head hardly what anyone could call intact. He lays smashed and broken and bloody on the ground as Abraham did and Eugene finally feels at peace. 

 

A wave of shock and awe falls over everyone at the stand off, no one able to grasp what just happened. The survivors use that angle to take what remains of Negan’s people -more diminished than Eugene realized previously- at gunpoint. Rick prys the gun from Negan’s fingers and looks to Eugene. He understands. 

 

“That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?” 

 

“Something like that. I admit I went into the situation unsure of how I’d play my angle , but when the opportunity presented itself I took full advantage.” 

 

Rick laughed out a sigh of relief. “A rifle that shoots backwards...I’ll be damned.” 

* * *

 

The dust is settling in Hilltop, the war as good as done, and it’s a few days after the big event that he crosses paths with her again. She looks different in jeans and a plaid shirt, but he hardly has time to take that in before she’s wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder and saying, “oh my god…”. He holds her just as close, surprised to find how much he missed her, how worried he had been.

 

“I heard…” she says, pulling back. “I heard you found a way-...he’s  _ dead _ …?” 

 

“As a doornail. His mistake was putting all his eggs in one basket with me.”

 

“I should have known you would.” Her arms are still around his neck and she looks at him with what can only be described as awe. He never thought he’d see a woman (particularly one as beautiful as her) look at him as she is now. 

 

They spend the rest of the day together. She tells of her trials and close-calls coming here, he explains what went on in the days leading up to the event. She makes him a modest dinner from what could be spared. They talk beside a fire- the autumn chill is setting in and they can’t be outside without one. The glow illuminates the orange in her hair. 

 

She kisses his cheek and thanks him for all that he’s done before she retires to bed. He feels a stirring in him that he knows he should do all he can to tamp down. 

* * *

 

They eventually move to the Kingdom, at the requested need of a seasoned engineer. They are friends and, yet, somehow  _ more _ and it seems strange for one to go in a different direction than the other. Eugene can’t remember ever feeling close to someone in quite the same way as he does to her; there’s a sense of comfort and security between them, in which he takes a great deal of solace.

 

When she isn’t farming or giving out complimentary massages (a priceless reprieve in the midst of the horrors) she works as his assistant, learning more in the process and picking up where their lessons left off. Her belly grows to the point where it’s noticeable and she wears looser clothing to hide it for reasons she has yet to admit. 

 

One day he sprains his shoulder while helping her with farm work and she keeps after him to let her give him a massage until, that evening, he relents. He’s been hesitant because he doesn’t feel confident enough to take off his shirt, but he  _ does _ trust her and it’s only them in this room right now so maybe he doesn’t need to worry. She certainly doesn’t seem judgemental or, worse, horrified when said shirt is taken off and that’s satisfactory for him. 

 

She works diligently on the kinks in his shoulder and makes the pain diminish. Her hands continue working along the ridges of his spine, along his neck, and then she coaxes him to lie back against her as she rubs his scalp and temples. All at once this feels a lot more intimate, but his feeling of security with her is such that it doesn’t worry him. In any case he knows by now how tactile Frankie is (which makes sense for her line of work). She’s never shied away from touching him, even from the beginning of their acquaintance. 

 

But something unusual  _ does _ happen when he can feel her press a kiss to his forehead. He pulls himself out of the drowsy haze she’s put him under and looks to her in confusion. The only time she’s kissed him before was when she left Sanctuary and did so out of gratitude, on the cheek, so he feels compelled to ask,

 

“What was that for…?” 

 

“Nothing,” she says, her face soft and filled with a kind of innocent intent that he can’t place. “I just wanted to.” 

 

He’s still visibly confused, so rather than explain any further she just pulls forward and kisses him on the lips this time, lingering. 

 

“This is the part where you kiss me back,” she suggests with a subtle grin, a few beats after she pulls away (though not very far). “If you want.” 

 

This is more than anything he ever imagined would be his. He cups her cheek in the affection for her he’s tried to keep to himself- and awe at what’s unfolding. 

 

“I  _ do _ want. To...kiss you, I mean…” 

 

She laughs and beats him to the punch again, but he decides to be a bit more forthcoming than anyone might anticipate him to be in this situation. He  _ knows _ what he wants and all that time spent watching Rosita and Abraham from the shadows has given him some idea of how to accomplish it while pleasing her at the same time. 

 

As such, he guides her onto her back with continued kisses, her fingers running through his hair (the same hair, he notes with some amount of satisfaction, that he’d been told would drive most women away) and he places his kisses -maybe awkward and trembling, but certain of their goal- down the line of her jaw, the slope of her neck, making sure to touch every exquisite freckle he can see; hers are faint, but from this close up he can see them patterning her pale skin like constellations. 

 

“Does something need to be said?” he asks softly, somewhat into her clavicle. He’s too far gone to pull them completely out of this moment. He speaks specifically of the change in their dynamic in this moment, from friendship to...something else. 

 

“Does it…?” she replies, her voice a bit of an impatient whine now. 

 

“I like you,” he says, taking her hand and lacing their fingers. “I like you a lot, Frances Rebecca Samuels.”

 

She sighs out a chuckle. 

 

“Oh my god, I said don’t ever use my full name…! I  _ trusted _ you!” 

 

He kisses away her joking complaints and reiterates his point against her lips, “I  _ like _ you...and I need you to understand, this is never,  _ could never _ be a one-off for me. If we’re doing this, I want it to be a real, lasting thing. It’s not too late to turn back.”

 

Her smile widens and her eyes glint, that light sort of algae green.

 

“Are you asking if you can be my boyfriend, Eugene?” 

 

“Yes, mam. That would be ideal.” 

 

She kisses him again, this time longer than before and says somewhere in between this, “Yes. Yes,  _ absolutely _ .” 

 

Afterwards they lay naked and tangled in a heap under the sheets. She fell asleep sometime ago but he stays awake, savoring the feel of their fingers laced together once more and the heavy rise and falls of her ribcage, just under his arm. He begins to think he’s miscalculated when he described his feelings towards her as ‘liking’. He likes pickles, he likes gaming, likes literature. 

 

None of that, no matter how fond he is of those things, could even come close to what he feels now with her in his arms. 

* * *

 

Months pass. Eugene notices the palpable surprise and confusion people seem to exhibit at the fact that they’re a couple, but he doesn’t mind. To them, Frankie is little more than a very pretty face and he knows they’re wondering why she hasn’t gone after someone more on her level of physical attractiveness. Even if he can concede she deserves that, he knows that she’s more than what people see on the surface level; she’s a devoted friend, a mother-to-be, aspiring scientist, resilient survivor. He guesses that it’s been his pleasure to call himself her partner because he recognizes and values her for those traits rather than her looks alone.

 

Her belly has gotten rounder and it becomes nigh impossible to hide it. She seems more disheartened by this than anything and, finally, one night she confides in him her fears. She worries about the world she’d be bringing the child into, if they’ll be safe, how she’ll explain the absence of a father. 

 

Eugene caresses her stomach and makes a solid offer. 

 

“I would father this child as if they were my own, if you’d permit me. I can’t promise I’ll be the best at it right away, but you’ve shown me an eagerness to learn is just as important as proficiency.” 

 

She takes his hand and presses a kiss of gratitude to his knuckles in reply. A small kick of a baby’s foot is felt then, just under where his other palm rests. 

 

* * *

 

 

The labor begins when they’re out tilling the soil for the year’s sowing and she suddenly doubles over in a cry. There have been false alarms before but she swears she can already feel a hard pressure coming forth. He times her contractions as he carries her to the surviving Dr. Carson, and sure enough he imagines they don’t have very long. 

 

She holds on to his hands for the duration of it and exhibits the full force of her strength with very powerful squeezes. He doesn’t particularly care if she breaks his hand in the process, as he knows it’ll still be less than the pain she must feel now. Anesthesia is not easy to come by, even for as developed as the Kingdom may be in every other respect. 

 

After what feels like an eternity, Frankie yells out one last time and a baby boy emerges in a bloody effluvia, crying and healthy. Despite the mess Eugene can’t remember seeing anything more beautiful. That’s  _ their _ child,  _ his _ child, this miracle born in the midst of a world gone wrong. In that baby boy’s cries and the way he holds Eugene’s finger in his tiny fist, there’s all the hope that maybe the future won’t be so grim. 

 

“I haven’t even thought of names,” Frankie says later on as she feeds the baby. She’s recovered beautifully from the labor, something she credits Dr. Carson for more than anything else. “But we can’t call him  _ Baby _ forever.” 

 

Eugene  _ has _ thought about it, however. 

“I have a suggestion, if you’re amenable,” he says, to which she nods and scoots over so he can sit beside them on the bed. “There was a man I knew out here for quite some time...he was strong and brave and he made me believe that maybe I could be strong and brave too. He died too soon.” 

 

Frankie smiles and looks over at him. “What was his name?” 

 

“Abraham.” 

 

* * *

 

Life goes on then almost as if the world hasn’t changed. They live together in their own cabin, the three of them and baby Abe. Eventually Eugene welds them rings and a brief, private ceremony officiated by Father Gabriel makes them as good as husband and wife. Marriage didn’t mean a lot when he was straggling out on the road, but the ritual of going through a ceremony and signing documents means that society continues. It’s almost as significant as feeling as bound together as they do.

 

Foolishly, Eugene doesn’t question any of this. He allows himself to belief that a happiness has found him and will always be there, just as it is now. No amount of experience to the contrary brings him to suspect that this might come crashing down one day. 

 

But it does. Fate has other plans. 

 

They’re out scavenging and hunting game one day when a stray hoard of walkers finds them. It’s just him and Frankie and their crossbows and they do what they can to take down the group before they can work their way to the Kingdom, not far up the road. Things go wrong. Frankie gets bitten. 

 

Her cries shatter him and he takes down the rest of the hoard in a sloppy but powerful rage. Then he takes her into his arms. Tears run down her cheeks but she doesn’t seem scared as she clings to him. 

 

“So, this it...this is how I go. Bitten by a  _ fucking _ walker…” 

 

“No, no, no…” he repeats, trying to be strong for her though he can’t stop his sobs. “This isn’t it...this is  _ not _ the end of our story…” 

 

She smiles sympathetically at him and cups his cheek. 

 

“Let’s face it, the chance of growing old together out here was pretty slim to none. You gave me the best year of my life, Eugene. I couldn’t have asked for more than that.”

 

He pulls her close and cries into her neck. He  _ knows _ it’s goodbye, but he wants their final moment to last. 

 

“I love you,” she whispers. “Tell Abe I love him too.” 

* * *

 

Some years go by. Eugene has learned how to carry the weight of the deaths of loved ones and hers continues to sit heavy on his heart. They’ve lain her in the ground in a grave marked only with stones and the flowers her husband and son bring every spring. 

 

He stands here now, little red-headed Abraham Frances Porter beside him holding Grimbly Gunk under one arm. The two are inseparable. Eugene finds himself grateful that he pulled that odd creature out of inventory in Sanctuary on a whim. 

 

“Did Mommy like daisies?” Abe asks as he arranges them carefully on the hill of stones. 

 

“I imagine she would’ve liked any manner of flora you gave her, even if it was a handful of bull thistle.” 

 

Abe gets up and takes his father’s hand. They’re close enough to the Kingdom but Eugene keeps a weathered eye out and a hand on his rifle even so. He doesn’t take chances anymore. 

 

“Sometimes I have nightmares, Daddy,” Abe admits. “That they come get me and take me away.” 

 

“Ain’t nobody gonna take you anywhere,” Eugene says, squeezing his son’s hand. “Not so long as I’m here to protect you. That’s a bonafide promise.” 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
